


Blue Hawaiian

by double_negative



Category: Genghis Khan - Miike Snow (Music Video)
Genre: Alcohol, Awkwardness, Bar, M/M, These two dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 14:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6614365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/double_negative/pseuds/double_negative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet in a bar. They talk.<br/>Everything is awkward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Hawaiian

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write these two so bad.
> 
> Names taken from icarus_chained headcanon.  
> They're Sphinx and Michael White.

Michael could not believe his eyes. In the corner of the small bar he chose to venture inside, a familiar figure. Broad shoulders wrapped in dark fabric and a bald head almost hidden behind a high collar. Michael feels something tug painfully in his chest, approaching the man sitting on a barstool. He hopes he's mistaken, he prays it's just his imagination playing tricks with his enfatuation with the man behind the golden mask.

The man turns around, but there's no gleam of gold, just a mishapen nose and blotchy red scar tissue, but it's undeniably him, the Sphinx himself.

It's too late to back down, so Michael manages a smile when he sits on the stool next to his nemesis, Sphinx only nods silently in acknowledgement. He says nothing, just sips his drink and Michael wonders what he could say in a situation like this, what he can say and the words are stuck in his throat. He's already here. He's so close to the man he wanted to talk to casually for years, only to be interrupted each time by mission orders and villainous plots. He's face to face with Sphinx and the awkwardness of their casual meeting is killing him.

When bartender approaches Michael, his throat is so parched from stress, he almost croaks out his order, "double whiskey on the rocks", because if he's doing this, he needs to be drunk. At least then he could say it was the liquor talking. He's surprised Sphinx breaks the silence first.

\- Tired of martinis, Agent?

And the awkwardness around them shatters, Michael's practiced charming smirk, straining his face, turns into a genuine one.

\- You don't even know. Hated these things since the first day, much rather drink acid than that.

Sphinx smiles at him. He looks so regal, so important even without his henchmen around, in his casual clothes, black coat replaicing the navy uniform, but it's the look on his face that assures Michael he's safe. For now.

\- I don't recommend acid. I don't think you can pull off the masked look as well as I do it.

His voice is almost somber as he stares off into the mirrored bar counter. Michael never knew. Well, of course, it wasn't a surprise Sphinx was actually hiding something under his mask, but that he would pretty blatantly confess what caused the damage to his face... He studies the scarring on Sphinx's face and he can't say it's ugly. It gives him that flair of mystery, that unmistakable declaration of evilness.

\- Did it hurt?

Michael asks and mentally kicks himself for the stupidest question. Of course being burned with acid hurts. But Sphinx doesn't laugh at him, he just states matter-of-factly.

\- Not really. Not as much as betrayal.

And the silence falls over them again, Michael suddenly feeling so out of place with his track suit and hair matted by sweat from the run he took before deciding to get a drink. He's certainly not the ever perfect Agent Sphinx is so used to seeing and it adds to intimacy of their encounter to an uncomfortable extent. Michael is so rarely seen without his signature suit and perfectly styled hair, it's almost like taking off a layer of skin. And doing it before the man who's supposed to be your nemesis is certainly unusual.

It's Sphinx who breaks the silence again. He motions towards the bartender.

\- You drink is here. Can I propose a toast?

He announces, sliding his glass closer to Michael's.

\- Sure.

Michael says, lifting his own glass.

\- To coincidences.

Sphinx's voice is lacking that dramatic flair he always had when he announced to Michael the name of his new invention that this time would certainly kill him (every time with that pomp even as Michael already realised there was a flaw built in each and every one of them so that he could escape unscathed). Instead of that he sounds incredibly normal, like a guy who walked into a bar after a long week at work and just wants to relax. Like a man meeting his old friend for a drink and somehow in Michael's head notes that they seen each other so often they probably can be considered friends if not for their work.

The toast itself is weird too, but Michael decides not to question the villain. Instead, he decides to ask about what's been bothering him from the moment he recognized a man in the bar as his nemesis.

\- What are you drinking?

There's a faint smile on Sphinx's lips again when he takes a sip before answering.

\- It's Blue Hawaiian.

The bright liquid sloshes in the tall glass as Sphinx explains his choice.

\- It's tasty. And it looks good.

What Michael doesn't know is that the last sentence was supposed to be "It reminds me of your eyes", but Sphinx just smiled faintly into his glass again, silencing that thought.

\- Well. It's certainly blue.

All that Michael can say, wondering, where his usual quick wit and sharp tongue have gone since their last meeting. Maybe they were pretend after all. He never had the time to muse over such things. His whiskey is pleasantly cold and it leaves a perfect woody aftertaste when he finally takes a gulp.

\- Do you come here often?

Sphinx asks and Michael looks over them again. No one would know what they are to each other. To a passing glance they seem like two friends who know each other for so long there's no need to say a lot of words. Actually, when he thinks about this, their relationship never depended on words. A blow to the face, a pistol whipped out, a saw lowering from the ceiling... They never even had a chance to speak outside their assigned roles, outside weird work ethics of secret agents. Villains and heroes were never supposed to have conversations, even less likely you would see them share drinks like this.

\- No. I just happened to pass by.

\- I figured, by the state of your clothes.

\- Well. You can't wear a tuxedo every day, you know. What about you?

\- The same. Just passing by.

So that's what he meant when he offered a toast for coincidences. He already understood why Michael was here, he just needed to ask out of politeness and to uphold the conversation when they both don't really know what to say to each other. There's so much inside Michael's head, but the words don't come and he feels really stupid when he stammers out, almost like he's embarassed he was figured out so easily.

\- I don't like drinking alone.

Sphinx's brow raises at that statement.

\- So you decided to approach me? Even before I noticed you, you could've left and gone elsewhere. Why?

\- I don't like drinking alone.

Is all Michael can say really. He won't explain what went through his head when he saw a familiar figure. He won't talk about how he felt all those years of awkward chasing after each other to foil each others plans. And he certainly won't say he's enjoying himself sitting to his nemesis so close, sharing that awkward conversation. And what else can he do right now? Attempt to flirt, like he usually does with his drinking partners? Sphinx certainly looks good in that unusual outfit and his whole face is seen for the first time, that perfect face of his... Hell. If that train of thought is not stopped, Michael is sure he'll be even more ashamed of himself. So he takes another gulp of whiskey and decides the best course of action would be to wait. Assess the situation as it unfolds, the night only just started.

They sit side by side, shoulders almost brushing and Michael is sure his frantic heartbeat can be heard from a mile away, but Sphinx's attention is completely taken up by his drink, where a coctail cherry is situated between a slice of pineapple and a paper umbrella and it's the uglyest drink Michael has ever seen and probably that's the reason it fits Sphinx so well. It's obnoxious and fancy, but Michael can't help but wonder if tastes just like their relationship feels, with hidden sweetness behind the sour of pineapple and orange liquor.

The jukebox plays a song Michael knows. It's a jazz arrangement of an old hit he used to like as a child and to his surprise, he hears Sphinx humming ever so quietly along to the tune, playing with a cherry in his glass before popping it into his mouth.

And when the question is spoken, Michael is pretty sure he could blame the alcohol in his blood for that one.

\- Do you dance?


End file.
